


Real

by xcourtney_chaoticx



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Male Friendship, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Possibly Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5741635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xcourtney_chaoticx/pseuds/xcourtney_chaoticx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sounds like you had a nightmare to me.”</p>
<p>Finn says nothing for a moment. That can’t be. Stormtroopers don’t have nightmares because that would mean they felt fear and remorse, and fear and remorse are Wrong Thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I have legit written for this fandom and I am so happy to jump in. Any feedback would be appreciated.

FN-2187 wakes with a start and looks around. Pain shoots up his spine. He grits his teeth against it. He is a Stormtrooper, one of the best, and stormtroopers do not show pain. He blinks. No, this is not a First Order base, is far too slapdash, too fresh, not sterile enough. Besides, wounded stormtroopers do not get to recover in a hospital. The weak die. The strong survive. Simple. Pain sparks in his shoulder, and he remembers. FN-2187 is dead. His name is Finn now. He looks around.

He’s in the rudimentary hospital on D’Qar, the Resistance base. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he’s glad he is. He’s glad to see the person slumbering beside him, too. The dark curls are mussed, the handsome tan face relaxed in sleep. Finn feels his heart rate slow and simply watches his friend. He doesn’t know why he woke up feeling so uneasy and afraid, but the sight of Poe Dameron slumbering peacefully beside him calms him.

Another week passes before his back is healed enough for him to be released. Poe meets him, smiling warmly, helping him stand and walk. He leads Finn down a series of small corridors, guides him over and under the massive tree roots, updates him on Rey’s mission. He misses Rey, and he never got the chance to thank her for saving his life. He thanks Poe because he can, thanks him for saving his life, for saving the galaxy. Poe’s cheeks turn a bright pink, his dark eyes canting to the ground. He tells Finn not to worry about it. It was nothing. Finn doesn’t understand why Poe won’t accept the praise, but says nothing. He remembers how it sometimes made him uncomfortable, too.

Poe tells Finn he can stay with him in his quarters. Finn likes it. He has never in his life slept in a room by himself, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to sleep if he were alone. He listens to Poe’s quiet, even breathing and lets it lull him to sleep. In this little room, with one of his friends, he slumbers peacefully.

It’s a night like any other. Finn and Poe have dinner. They chat about simple things. Finn asks a million questions, and Poe asks a few of his own. He’s shocked when Finn tells him about the lives of stormtroopers, how they are taken as infants, raised to be a fighting force, taught nothing more than what is needed to be an effective army. He thinks he sees tears in the pilot’s eyes, though he isn’t entirely sure why. Despicable as the First Order is, they at least gave Finn an education, three meals a day, and a trade. That’s more than many in the galaxy get.

“But they didn’t give you an identity… didn’t give you a name.”

Finn shrugs, “No… no, they didn’t… just the number.”

As he lays down to sleep, the First Order looms in his mind. He tries not to think about it too hard. Poe’s breathing lulls him to sleep.

He wakes on Starkiller Base, Phasma’s eyes boring into his from behind her gleaming helmet. Fear grips his heart. This is not possible. Starkiller was destroyed. He cannot be here now. Phasma’s modulated voice rings in his ears. She calls him foolish, a born traitor. It was all a simulation, a clever program designed to weed out those predisposed to treachery and defection. There was no Poe Dameron, no BB-8, no attack on Jakku, no Rey… nothing. No Finn, either, because he is not Finn without Poe. Nines and Zeroes and Slip come in to restrain him. He hears it… a loud, volatile buzzing. Bile burns in his throat, but he doesn’t vomit. Kylo Ren stands before him, a wound in his side dripping blood onto the floor. He steps around behind FN-2187 and-

Finn screams as he wakes, his back and shoulder throbbing violently, tears streaming down his face. There’s a soft voice in his ear, soft and kind and warm, and strong arms wrapped around his chest. It comforts him somewhat but not enough. He takes a deep breath in through his nose. He remembers. Poe. It’s Poe here with him. He is real and warm and here. Finn calms a bit more.

“What happened?” Finn asks shakily.

“I dunno, buddy. You tell me.”

Finn tells him.

“Sounds like you had a nightmare to me.”

Finn says nothing for a moment. That can’t be. Stormtroopers don’t have nightmares because that would mean they felt fear and remorse, and fear and remorse are Wrong Thinking.

“I’ve never had a nightmare,” he simply says instead.

“Well, you’re not a buckethead anymore,” Poe explains, “You’re allowed to have nightmares. I don’t want you to, but you’re allowed. Everybody does. I do.”

“I dreamed you weren’t real… that it was all a simulation made to make me fail and feel… but the worst was that you weren’t real. What are your nightmares about?”

“Honestly, Finn, they’re kinda the same. Sometimes, I dream you aren’t real, that it’s all just Kylo Ren playing around in my head. He’s toying with me… makes me feel so good, so happy, so hopeful…then he brings me back to reality, a reality where you aren’t real. It’s worse every time.”

“I don’t want you to have dreams like that,” Finn mutters, leaning back into Poe’s chest.

He wants Poe to know this isn’t one of those evil dreams he has. Kylo Ren is not here. Phasma is not here. Maybe Finn wants to be sure Poe is real, too. The pilot is warm and soft behind him, his arms strong around Finn’s chest. A stubbled chin rests on his dark shoulder, and another sound floats around him.

Poe sings softly, in a language that is not Basic, that Finn can’t understand. It feels like a lullaby. Perhaps it was something Poe’s mother or father used to sing him when he was small.

“No one’s ever sung to me before,” Finn murmurs.

A rough hands splays over Finn’s chest, and Poe keeps singing. His voice lulls Finn back to sleep.


End file.
